Trans Am
by PrsctrTails
Summary: Our favorite pilots in a bit more realistic setting. Finally summoned the courage to post this. Enjoy! I'll be using a lot more characters in the coming chapters. R&R!
1. Routine Takeoff

Grumbling, the red-haired first officer fiddled with the idle controls, amusing himself by flipping switches. Not exactly a sporting nor an FAA approved past time.

"TRA 376, Tower? Does anyone know where the Captain is?" Groused the agitated Patrick Colasour. "Not to be rude, but we've been on the ground 25 minutes past takeoff. A mutiny is starting to look likely." The air traffic controller on the other end managed a chuckle.

"TRA 376, we've been told he's on his way. Sorry about the delay." She replied. Clearly, Anew Returner found this much more amusing than the young pilot. Patrick was still itching to fly lead.

"Tower, request standby permission to taxi and departure." He tried again, the notes of griping humorously present. Anew chuckled.

"Denied, 376. Don't worry, your Captain is here." She said. At this, Patrick threw his arms up, groaning.

"_Sacré bleu_!" He lamented. He was about to go on a new diatribe until the smell of cheap gin filled the cockpit. He wrinkled his nose as the Captain practically collapsed into the chair to the right of him. "You're late. Very late." Patrick said, clearly not pleased. The older man shrugged off the comment along with his rumpled suit jacket. Rubbing his eyes, he seemed less than stellar.

"Don't even start with me." Grumbled the Captain, one Ali Al-Saachez, as he struggled to get his headset on. His eyes appeared redder than Patrick's hair. His breath was pungent enough the flight engineer, Lasse Aeon, considered putting an oxygen mask on now, in case it got worse. Patrick rolled his eyes.

"At least you've kept all that ugly facial hair off off." The First Officer grumbled as he started the preflight sequences. Ali rolled his eyes, and after great struggle, finally got his headset properly alligned.

"Stow it, Frenchie." The clean shavened Captain ordered. "Now, let's get this thing up before the passengers rebel." He said. From his seat, Lasse found it amusing that the Captain could refer to a Boeing 747 as a 'thing'. Slurred speech not-withstanding, Ali managed to get things going. He cleared his throat and put on a very cheerful voice as he turned on the plane's PA system.

"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to Trans Am International flight 376. First off, sorry about the delay, but the shuttle bus I was on suffered a flat tire in the middle of the freeway. But don't worry, we're all good to go now. As for introductions, I'm Captain Ali Al-Saachez, my First Officer is Patrick Colasour and the Flight Engineer is Lasse Aeon. Now, I've been flying for 12 years, so none of you have anything to worry about. Now, our flight time should be just under two hours, but, we'll see if we can't get you there a little bit faster. Again, thank you for choosing Trans Am and have a nice flight."

With a flick of his wrist, he turned off the PA system and let out a slight groan. He hated being peppy, especially when he was hungover. Pushing that out of his head, he was finally able to get down to work.

"TRA 376, Tower?" Ali called into his headset.

Still chuckling over all the bumbling, Anew managed to get instructions out. "TRA 376, clear to runway 44R. Taxi via Whiskey-3, Whiskey-5, Juliet-4." The young woman, said, trying not to laugh at the semi-bumbling flight crew.

"Roger, tower. We're going." Captain Saachez said. Secretly, he was very thankful it was night, for the sun and its bright rays played havoc with his constantly red and bloodshot eyes. Now his only distraction was the near blinding light of downtown Miami. As he tried to blink the red out of his eyes, he again yawned.

"We're going to… New Orleans, right?" He asked. Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Captain. We're going to New Orleans." Patrick confirmed, hiding his mild fright. With this, Ali nodded as he began the last of the pre-flight checks and finally got the massive jet going. Like he always insisted, Ali flew better when he was hungover. He cleared his throat as the jumbo jet turned onto the runway. He couldn't help it, he may have been 35, but he still loved the way the light lined up when placed against the night.

"You are cleared for takeoff." Anew's voice said over the Captain's headset. Ali rolled his head.

"This is TRA 376, Roger, cleared for takeoff on runway……44R." He said, adjusting the flaps and sending the plane forward and it was not long before the 747 and its colorful crew was on its way.

When 10,000 feet was achieved, Saachez let out a long sigh, which resulted in the cockpit yet again becoming a chamber for his rancid breath, Patrick skillfully hid a grimace.

"Long night, sir?" Flight Engineer Lasse inquired, knowing that simply keeping Captain Saachez talking would probably keep him awake.

"I guess." He said, rubbing his eyes. "Flying back to back has lost its appeal. Had to pick up one of Mason's routes. He's got the flu or scabies or something." The older man grumbled, checking various gauges as he voiced his complaints, which he continued to rattle off even though he knew that his crew had long stopped listening.

Though the drama in the cockpit was by far the most entertaining, almost equally amusing were the noble efforts of the flight attendants, doing their very best to meet every need of every passenger and do it with a smile. It was enough to make Saji Crossroad want to eat his own hair. He had to get a blanket to a bulimic fashion model because she was cold, and pillow to an overweight salesman because his back didn't have enough support and get food and beverages to everyone…except the bulimic fashion model.

"Come on, Saji." Came her voice, always cheerful. "We're almost done for now." She said. At this, Saji smiled.

"I know, Lousie, I know." He chuckled as the blonde appeared to float in her every movement. It was enough to make Saji believe she was either A) an alien or B) Zoloft enabled. He shook his head with a laugh as he wrangled with the beverage and snack cart. With cat like grace, he pushed the cart up and down the various aisles of the various sections, distributing meals, drinks and whatever else was one the cart. To the untrained eye, this may have seemed menial, but in the world of stewards and stewardesses, Saji and Louise were King and Queen.

As he collapsed back into his chair, Louise continued laughing.

"Oh, you're just so cute in that apron, Saji." She said, tittering. "Like you should have your own cooking show." She continued, her laughter spreading over to Saji. The young man shook his head and had finally relaxed when yet another light came on, signaling that yet another passenger needed something. Saji rose first.

"I got this one, Louise. Why don't you make us something to eat?" He asked. Louise nodded, still cheery.

xxx

Picking up the ringing phone in the cockpit, Lasse Aeon received the news, blinked a few times before speaking.

"Ummm…. Understood." He finally said.

"What is it?" First Officer Colasour inquired. Lasse stood still, appearing deep in thought; Patrick arched an eyebrow, curious at Lasse's impression of being frozen. He finally snapped out of it with a shake of his head.

"We're… being hijacked, apparently." Lasse said, in a factual tone that made it sound like this was a common occurrence. Patrick gulped hard, worried that this, more than anything, would keep him from his date with his beloved Kati Mannequin.

In the Captain's chair, Ali remained slightly emotionless, trying to sort out why God would assign this unenviable position to him. With a disgruntled sigh, he put his headset back on.

"Frenchie, what's the closest airport?" He asked. Colasour immediately pulled a map out and scanned it.

"Hartsfield-Jackson in Atlanta" He said. Saachez knitted his brow and finally spoke into the microphone end of his headset.

"Come in Hartsfield Control, this is TRA 376." He spoke, voice still calm. Thousands of feet below, air traffic controller Billy Katagiri quickly put down his chocolate doughnut and answered.

"TRA 376, this is Hartsfield Control, Any problems?" Katagiri asked, still surprised to hear the call. Saachez cleared his throat.

"Hartsfield, The Heat Is On In Saigon, repeat, The Heat Is On In Saigon." The Captain spoke evenly. At his post, Katagiri froze but finally found the strength to push a small red button on the far right of his keyboard

"Understood, 376. Your situation is confirmed and actions are being taken. What information do you have?"

Ali turned back to face Lasse and said, "What do we know?" Lasse blinked.

"Two people. Screaming about something. They're threatening to blow the plane up if we don't land where they say." He explained.

"And where is they want to land?" Patrick asked.

"They haven't said yet." Lasse said, causing Ali to groan.

"Dammit, they don't even know what they're going to do yet." He groaned and took a sip from a bottle of orange juice. "Hartsfield Control, this is 376. We have two suspects on board, Flight Engineer has ascertained they have no plan and are going by ear. They are threatening use of an unconfirmed explosive device."

"Roger, 376. Understood." Katagiri said, wondering how this was going to resolve. "…376…do you know anything else?"

"Sorry, control." Ali said. "We're clueless." The cockpit crew let out a collective breath, still unsure of what was going to happen. The Captain finally let out a surprising laugh. "God, this is like a sick version of that Billy Joel song." Patrick, still in slight shock played along.

"Which one, Sir?"

"_Goodnight Saigon_." Ali explained. "You know, that chorus part. And we would all go down together. We said we'd all go down together. Yes, we would all go down together." He finished, leaving his First Officer and Flight Engineer ever so slightly horrified.


	2. Procedures

[Second chapter, more characters! Sorry in advances if my Setsuna stinks, I've never written him before. Hahaha. Read and Review, please!]

The building rose up from the concrete like some sort of steel and glass tree, standing reasonably tall at 20 stories. Despite its cylinder shape, it was indeed a honeycomb of offices; meeting rooms, boardrooms, break rooms [complete with very expensive coffee machines that rarely worked], and finally, the top floor, which consisted of the large ornate windows and skylights that hovered above the private offices of the company executives of Trans Am International Airways.

In one office, which was of a good size, chilled heavily by the air conditioning, sat the desk that was surrounded by various academic degrees and diplomas. The man typing furiously away on his top of the line computer had started out as a lawyer, but figured that being a pilot would prove more amusing. He had done that for a few years for a small airline, and, with a select few other pilots had made it prominent and he had since moved to the boardroom of their own airline. He liked his job, being productive and high placed, but not responsible for any major accidents.

The phone rang the exact second he stopped typing.

"Yes?" Bring Stabity said after he had gracefully picked up the receiver. He remained carefully quiet as information was relayed to him, sitting so still his red hair appeared frozen in time, if only just for a moment.

He received the information without so much as a blink. "Okay. Thank you." He finally said as he set the phone back in its station. He spun in his chair to look out the large windows that composed a whole wall of his office. His mind raced at a carefully controlled pace.

Alejandro and Ribbons is away…Healing and Regene are on vacation, Devine is out playing pilot…Revive is at the Shareholders meeting…Great, it's only Tuesday and I get to deal with the domestic terrorists.

Rising from his chair, he looked out the large windows to notice that a news van had already arrived at the front of the building. He sighed.

"Well, at least it's MSNBC." He muttered, adjusting his tie. He made his way to an elevator, one of the slower one's, giving him time to rehearse his standard damage control remarks. He adjusted his lengthy hair, practiced his smile in the shiny silver doors.

The chamber chimed as it gently reached the bottom floor lobby. The young man had to hold back a chuckle when he noticed the reporter, a young woman, was doing her best to force her way past the security guards. Putting on his camera face, Bring moved forward.

"Pardon me, I'll handle this." He said, nodding towards the guards. They returned to their posts. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Bring Stabity, Chief Legal Counsel for Trans Am International Airways. How can I help you?"

"Kinue Crossroad, MSNBC." She said, sticking a hand out. Bring shook it firmly yet gingerly. "So, you're the lawyer?"

"Yes, something like that." He said, laughing. "How can I be of service to the Fourth Estate today?"

"Well, I'd like to assume you know one of your planes has been hijacked." She said as her cameraman arrived through the door. Bring nodded.

"First off, the plane is still under control of the flight crew and the cockpit is secure. The plane has not been truly hijacked." Bring said, smiling. "If you want this to look especially good on camera, there's a restaurant on the 10th floor." He suggested. She nodded.

"Lead the way." She said, already looking impatient.

xxx

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." The pilot cheered into a receiver leading to the plane's PA system. "Welcome to Trans Am flight 247 from Los Angeles to fabulous Las Vegas!"

In the chair to the right of the Captain, the young First Officer couldn't help but smile in the slightest, an act that could be considered infrequent.

"Since you all seem to be a really nice group, let's see if my co-pilot and I can't shave 45 or so minutes of this flight. Isn't that right, First Officer Seiei?" Captain Dylandy said, suddenly pushing the receiver in Setsuna's face. The raven haired co-pilot simply glared.

"Yes. That is a possibility." The always-serious aviator replied, much to Neil's amusement.

"See? He always means what he says." Captain Dylandy merrily reminded. "Now, please, sit back, relax and enjoy your flight." He chimed, flipping off the PA system. Setsuna simply glared at him.

"Are you done?" He inquired.

"I guess. For now. I think." Neil smiled, the slightest hint of his Irish brogue traceable in his voice. Setsuna rolled his eyes, making sure the last of the preflight sequences had been taken care of. In the Captain's chair, Neil shoved several sticks of chewing gum into his mouth. His aviator sunglasses were pushed down low on his nose. He suddenly seemed as if he had a great idea.

"Everything seems fine, Captain." Setsuna noted.

"Your sky, Setsuna. That's what I want you to show me today." Neil said.

"…Huh?" Setsuna replied.

"You understand?" Neil inquired, a playful smirk on his face. Setsuna's face lit up.

"I understand, Sir." He nodded, his sudden enthusiasm evident. He adjusted his headset, softly biting his bottom lip. "TRA 247, Tower?"

In the control tower, a young controller gestured for her friends to gather around. The planned surprised was happening.

"TRA 247." Feldt Grace began with a slight giggle, "Take runway 55R. Taxi via Whiskey 5, Whiskey 3, Juliet 4."

"Roger!" Setsuna blurted out as the Boeing 737 began to ease in its prescribed direction. The group in the control panel decided to break FAA regulations and get in a slight bit of chatter.

"So, letting your puppy fly solo, Dylandy?" A voice came.

"Sure am, Sumeragi." Neil replied. "I think he's earned it." He explained, looking towards Setsuna with a smile.

"I can hear all of you." Setsuna said.

"That's the idea, newbie." Sumeragi pleasantly added. "Now, you're cleared for takeoff. Have a nice flight, guys. Bring me back some shot glasses."

"Roger, cleared for take off on runway 55R." Setsuna repeated. From there, his training took over and before he knew, the plane was in the air and the Captain had thrown an arm around his shoulder.

"Congrats. You just lost your virginity." Neil said, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Well, not that one. I took that one too." He laughed. Setsuna nodded.

"So… why today?" He asked. The older man simply shrugged.

"Seemed like a good idea." Neil said. "And I'm just really sick of takeoffs." The older man joked. "So, any of our passengers, who all seem to be age 60 or over, look like hijackers?" Setsuna stared blankly.

"No." He responded, missing the joke entirely.

"Come on, that was funny." The Captain said.

"Uh-huh." Setsuna replied, not shifting focus.

"Aha, still not going with the autopilot?" Neil inquired. Setsuna shrugged.

"Can't be that hard to keep my hands on the stick to Las Vegas." The young First Officer reasoned aloud. Neil shrugged.

"Nice work ethic." He complimented. "I'll have to get a picture of you, Amy still thinks you're adorable." Setsuna laughed under his breath, temporarily allowing a break in his steely façade.

"We at least get a nice Hotel in Vegas?" Setsuna inquired. Neil shrugged and nodded.

"Probably. I mean, our airline is managing to turn a profit." The fair-haired Irishman quipped. His dark haired compatriot rolled his eyes.

As the two slowly returned to the realm of professionalism, Setsuna yawned.

"Shame we can't just turn on the autopilot and sleep." He said.

"We can." Neil countered. "But we're in trouble if someone finds out. And do you want to fly cargo routes?"

"No." Setsuna replied, voice flat. Neil rolled his eyes as he finished the mindnumbery known as paperwork. Making sure every "I" was dotted and each "T" was crossed.

"Knowing our luck, one of those gambling geezers back there will stroke out or have a heart attack." Neil offered. Setsuna poorly suppressed a laugh. "I mean, I'm pretty sure those little bottles of scotch don't mix well with blood pressure medication."

"Well, it would be somewhat amusing." Setsuna grinned slightly. His hands still firmly on the controls, he allowed himself a slight yawn. "I don't care for these charter packages." He declared.

"No one does." Neil countered. "But it means we get to spend a three-day weekend in Las Vegas. Not too bad of a tradeoff." The older man reasoned. The raven-haired copilot mumbled something to himself.

"Just don't bet all of _our_ money on the roulette tables again." Setsuna requested with slight force. Neil couldn't help but chuckle despite his co-pilots frown.

"No promises." Neil answered, winking.


	3. Plan Of Action

[The awaited Chapter Three, with a new character! And is it just me, or is Ali kind of a cool good guy? As always, read and review.]

With the klaxon blaring, the fighter pilot with a blonde mop top charged towards his steed, an F-15. His feet barely even touched the ground as he pulled his helmet on. All he knew was that a 747 had been hijacked and he was the first going up, armed to the teeth. Throwing himself into the cockpit, he looked down to notice his hands were quivering in the slightest. He received his orders through the mike in his helmet, attached his mask and slipped his visor down. Graham sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to act on his orders.

xxx

In the cockpit of the Trans Am Flight 376, the three-person crew remained, for the most part, silent. Occasionally First Officer Colasour would tell a bad joke in an attempt to lighten the mood. He had even managed a few laughs. He was about to try one of his patented 'natural disaster' jokes when the telephone in the cockpit rang. First Officer Colasour and Flight Engineer Aeon visibly flinched. Only Captain Saachez remained calm. At or around the third ring, Saachez stood and answered.

"Yes?" He propounded, far too calm. He remained stoic as the voice on the ran off a list of demands at a rapid pace before hanging up. The Captain hung up shortly thereafter.

"And…what?" Patrick asked, nerves visibly fraying.

"They said, well, more demanded, that we surrender the cockpit to them immediately so they can carry out their mission." Ali explained, removing his small hair tie to let his plentiful mane bounce and flow free.

"Which is?" Flight Engineer Lasse asked. "What mission?"

"They didn't say. They just demanded we surrender the cockpit immediately." Ali continued. "He sounded stressed out. He didn't mention killing the passengers, but it probably won't be long until that thought pops up in their minds."

"Guns or bombs?" Patrick asked.

"Both." Ali answered. "I'd say one has a bomb and the rest are packing."

"Remind me to have a serious chat with the TSA." Lasse grumbled. Patrick laughed.

"I'm going to guess we're not going to give up the cockpit." Patrick asked. Ali narrowed his gaze.

"No. Hell no." The tan older man declared. "Those nutjobs aren't getting _my _plane. Especially not while _I'm_ armed as well."

At this, Patrick and Lasse exchanged a slight glance. The issue of possible use of the pistol in the cockpit was now on the table.

"Is that wise, Captain?" Lasse asked. "If this group could smuggle guns and a bomb aboard a plane, it's probably safe to assume they're well trained in something." Patrick nodded in agreement.

"Good point." Ali said. "There's three of them total. One has a bomb, two have guns. We have one gun and I use to be a Special Forces Officer." The Captain reasoned out loud. Patrick's eyes widened.

"Sir, you can't be contemplating going out there." The fire headed Frenchman asked, incredulous. Ali remained facially indifferent. Flight Engineer Lasse nodded.

"There's one real problem with all this." The young Aeon began.

"Go ahead." Ali said, running a hand through his flood of hair.

"I think, if you put your mind and hands to it, you could take the three out, but, let's say that before you have a chance to, um… dispose of the group properly… that maybe one of them gets a few shots off." Lasse explained, not finishing the sentence. The three aviators knew what was unsaid.

"Planes don't react well to bullets." Patrick simply said.

"Valid point." Ali confirmed. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his head. "What can we do to prevent depressurization and cabin collapse should one of their bullets cause a.… leak?"

"Get the plane low." Patrick immediately said, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. Instead of eye contact, his gaze was locked on his wedding band.

"How do we do that without spooking the hijackers into blowing up the plane?" Lasse asked. "This group doesn't seem to be the smartest bunch."

Ali's veteran brain was already working, going through various scenarios silently. This was an entirely new situation to him and he had seen, and done, virtually everything in his 35 years on the Earth. His eyes blinked rapidly, trying to keep his ideas in order.

"… We lie." The Captain declared.

"Sir?" Patrick asked, finally breaking his gaze from the golden ring around his finger.

"We lie. We make up some crap about having to descend to a lower altitude because of winds over, um, Aeon, where are we?"

"Alabama." He replied, inspecting a map.

"Good. Great." Ali nodded. "We tell them that we've got wind sheers coming up at this altitude and have to descend. We tell them how far we have to go, but go lower." He explained. His crew nodded as he spoke, already on board.

"And then?" Patrick asked.

"I take the pistol and, well… secure the plane." Captain Saachez finished.

"By yourself?" Lasse pondered.

"We only have one gun, and I've killed at least 15 people in my life." Ali justified.

"Works for me." Patrick chuckled. "I mean, most of the company is convinced you're a war criminal of some sort."

"Hey, Gary Biaggi is a war criminal. Ali Al-Saachez certainly is not." The Captain asserted. Patrick and Lasse merely traded quizzical glances. The First Officer leaned back into his chair and stared into the peaceful blue sky.

"What happens if this doesn't work?" Patrick asked, gaze not yet broken.

"Then you two ditch the plane." Ali quickly answered. "I'll make sure to kill the one with the bomb. With that one done, hopefully the ones with the guns can't do that much damage."

"But, Sir… crash the plane?" Lasse blurted out.

"Yes. Hopefully, and it _will not_ come to this, but if I can't handle this, you two ditch the plane. Somewhere soft. Maybe shallow water. Radio ahead so we'll have emergency on the scene. We can hope that the passenger causalities will be minimal." The Captain explained, face and voice devoid of emotion.

The cockpit gave way to silence. None of the men could really bring themselves to speak on the current situation. Of course, none had received training, Ali included, involving the possibility of large-scale human loss. Innocent human loss.

"Well." Patrick began." It's a good thing you have good aim." He said, his comment meant as approval for the plan.

"Yeah. A real good thing." Lasse said, seconding the notion. Ali nodded. With that, the Captain made his way to a small box located underneath his chair. He plucked it out with slight tentativeness. He removed a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock carefully.

The top popped slightly and Ali let out a slight breath. He raised the lid gently. The crew leaned over.

"Huh." Patrick said. "Kinda surprised Corporate sprang for an American handgun." Ali laughed. With ease showing his professional background, he plucked the Smith & Wesson SW40VE. He softly slammed the magazine into the pistol and readied the firearm.

"All right, I've got a 15 round magazine. Frenchy, take my chair." He ordered. Patrick nodded and did so. "Make the announcement that we have to descend to a lower altitude. Do so, but give it a little buck on the way down, see if you can draw one of them up here. And, well… I'll take it from there."

Patrick and Lasse nodded, taking their seats in the two front chairs.

Ali tucked the gun into his pants behind him and made the short, but oddly long, walk to the cockpit door. He turned before leaving.

"Once this door closes, _you do not open it_." Ali ordered. "When I deal with our guests. I'll call you from downstairs. When I close the door, wait 45 seconds before making the announcement then another five before going for the buck. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" The two answered in unison, nodding.

"Good." Ali said, saluting his crew. "Make me proud boys." He said, grinning as he left. The two aviators returned the salute and briefly stared at where the Captain had been standing.

"You know." Patrick began, already eyeing his Rolex. "I'm really glad he's on our side."

"Totally." Lasse agreed, laughing despite the situation. The two returned their attention to the tasks at hand.

xxx

Ali found the upper floor empty, he remembered there being maintenance over reclining seat trouble. He looked at his watch and made note.

_25 seconds…_

He hid himself behind a wall immediately adjacent to the winding staircase that connected the two floors.

_10 seconds…_

Ali took in one last breath, the desert of Kuwait burning in his mind.

"Attention, Ladies and Gentlemen. We are going to have to descend due to severe winds we've just been warned about. Please bear with us. Thank you." First Officer Colasour announced over the PA system.

And then the plane, well, bucked. Certainly enough to notice, but not enough to damage the Captain. Training his ears, he heard nothing downstairs but the rambling and caterwauling of the hijackers. Hopefully, they'd follow his plan and just send one up. Or, in a perfect universe, all three would run up the stairs and he could just rear back and play Duck Hunt.

His mind went blank as he heard footsteps emanating from the spiral staircase. He narrowed his gaze as a ski mask clad interloper made his way into his field of vision. He guessed he was the bigger party and acted quickly.

Ali kicked hard at the back of the hijackers left knee, causing the black-clad figure to lean back slightly. In a flash, the Captain knocked the gun away and had his arms around the assailant's jaw and forehead. He struggled hard to keep the larger figure quiet and somewhat immobile. Ali shut his eyes carefully and jerked his arms hard as he could.

The larger body went limp. Lifeless.

Ali breathed a stunted breath, decidedly certain he had done the right thing. He pushed the body aside into an empty chair and pulled his handgun. He moved back and peered over the staircase, relieved to notice that his work had not caused any undue noise.

Feeling especially brave, The Captain took a step down the curving steps. Placing both hands around the pistol, Ali sincerely hoped age hadn't messed with his aim.


	4. Flash

"So, MSNBC." Bring said. "One of my favorite networks." He complimented. Kinue nodded, not entirely sure if he was being genuine or using some form of corporate charm.

"Thanks." She said, taking a sip from her coffee. "So, I don't suppose you can tell me the details of the Flight 376."

"I can tell you the Flight is still under control of the crew." Bring said. "That should be enough for your article… and our shareholders." Kinue couldn't help but laugh.

"Ok, okay. That's fine." She said. "So, for backdrop. Where did you go to Law School?"

"Cornell." Bring said, grinning. "Where did you do J-School?"

"Columbia." She responded, amused to be in the presence of another Ivy Leaguer.

"A very good school." Bring said. "I enjoyed your work on the mine collapse in West Virginia a few months back. Terrible business." He remarked, taking a sip of his tea.

"Yes, that was pretty rough." She admitted. "Though, it'll be nothing if something goes wrong with your plane." Bring could only chuckled. As he did so, his cell phone vibrated in the pocket of his suit jacket. He scanned the text message before placing his phone on the table.

"You don't know about the Captain." Bring began. "Do you?" Kinue shook her head.

"Enlighten me." She said, placing a tape recorder on the table.

"Oh, he's…something." Bring began. His eyes noted that dark clouds had filled the sky, robbing the floor of its sunlight and turning it over to the dull hum of the fluorescents. "He's been with us for 10 years. One of our best pilots. Never had any real problems."

"Then what's so interesting?" Kinue asked, a little confused.

"His background. None of it makes sense." The top lawyer chuckled. "He majored in Philosophy in College, graduated and enlisted in the Army. He was, at least according to his file, Special Forces. Army Rangers, I think. If you can think of any bad spot of the world, he's been there. You can only imagine what he's seen."

"Thus he becomes a pilot?" The ever-intrepid reporter asked.

"Indeed. He finished his service with the Army; he was a Colonel, I believe. He bounced here and there. Rumor has it he was a gun for hire." Bring laughed, trying to mask the fact he actually believed the rumors. "We deemed that a non-factor and paid for his flight school."

"Just like that?" Kinue asked.

"You make it sound as if it were simple." Bring said. "Quite a few of our more… conservative shareholders were in a panic that we hired a Middle Easterner as a pilot."

"What is he?" Kinue inquired. From the stories, he sounded more like a ghost.

"He's Jordanian. We think." Bring answered, fiddling his fingers with the buttons of his suit vest. "I can give you his file. It will be edited, of course."

"Of course." Kinue nodded. "You sound confident in him."

"And why not?" Bring pondered aloud. "The man is something fierce. Wouldn't _you_ want someone as well-trained as Captain Saachez?"

"I suppose." Kinue said, slightly pensive.

While the two professionals pleasantly traded banter, the First Officer and Flight Engineer of Trans Am Flight 376 sat stone still in their chairs.

"Well, the plane hasn't blown up yet." Patrick said. Lasse nodded.

"Yeah, that's a good sign." He agreed. "On the up side, we're all gonna be famous."

"Oh, yes." Patrick chuckled. "Though, Captain Saachez will get the bulk of the fame."

"Hey, he's the one killing people." Lasse added. "That a spot you want to be in?"

"Hell, no." Patrick confirmed.

Whilst the two in the cockpit traded nervous banter, Captain Saachez took his fifth step down the spiral staircase down towards the first floor of the captive airplane. He found it odd he was capable of such atrocious acts in times of war but found himself supremely uncomfortable in this task.

He had a full clip in his pistol and there were only two remaining hijackers. Factoring in his accuracy and training, he liked the math. What worried him was the fact that he would be forced to deal with quite a few innocent bystanders. If Patrick and Lasse followed instructions, the plane should have descended low enough to avoid the risk of massive depressurization.

His other worry was the terrorists themselves. They obviously weren't professionals seeing as they hadn't tried to storm the cockpit. In retrospect that would have been far easier than having to go and act out a Tom Clancy book amongst the passengers.

He trusted in his accuracy, and hopefully the hijackers would be lousy shots. The first one had gone down remarkably easy; Ali credited this to the element of surprise and height advantage.

He turned a slight corner on the staircase and caught a glance of the bottom level. He didn't see anyone, which was maybe a good sign. He took a tentative step towards the landing.

A loud crash.

Ali quickly pushed himself against the wall. He knew it wasn't a gunshot, a good sign, but it was still disconcerting. Perhaps it was a side effect of his plush lifestyle, but he seemed jumpy around things that a decade ago wouldn't have caused him to bat an eye. He took in a few breaths to calm himself, mentally repeating he had been a trained killer for the bulk of his life.

Another crash followed by yelling. The Captain suddenly realized things weren't going well. By his knowledge of the plane and his best guess, the terrorists were towards the front of the passengers. This was not good because all it did was to place more objects, i.e. passenger's heads, in his line of fire.

His mind raced with ideas and scenarios over how to solve the less than pleasant situation. Hopefully the passengers already had their heads down. If not, he'd just have to hope the hijackers were tall. He noted he was only four very small steps from the bottom. His plan to ease into the situation slowly came to a screeching halt.

"Hey! Get your hands off me, perv!" Came the voice, female. Ali's eyes widened. Hostages? Why him? God, this was a bad day. Perhaps it was his desire to save the damsel in distress or pre-trigger adrenaline, but Ali found himself at the bottom of the staircase peeking around the corner like a burglar.

The two remaining terrorists had corned one of the flight attendants. Ali couldn't remember her name, but her blonde hair and amazingly chipper personality had encoded her in his memory somewhat. He knew the lives of the passengers _and crew_ were on him, thus he would be in a great deal of trouble if the young, attractive blonde stewardess were gunned down on his watch. He pulled in a stuttering breath as he steadied himself, doing his best to remember his firearms training. He stifled a laugh. In his "past life" his central task had been going from hostile country to hostile country and "disposing" of troublesome Heads of State. He had been remarkably efficient at it.

"I said let go, weirdo!" Louise yelled again. Ali then heard a loud slapping noise followed by a few loud voiced exchanges. This was his moment. He burst forward, gun held high.

"You two! Hands in the air!" The Captain screamed, errant saliva flying from his mouth. The terrorists immediately trained their weapons on him. The passengers smartly lowered their heads. "I said show me your hands!"

The hijackers remained silent, the larger of the two using Louise as a human shield. Ali noted this and found himself now prone to the most inappropriate reaction possible.

Laughter.

"Hahaha! Ahahaha!" Ali bellowed, his mirth almost enough to double him over. "Really? Are you serious? The first person you grab is the attractive blonde?" He asked, gun never wavering.

Though their black ski masks obscured their faces, Ali could tell their eyes were a mix of quizzical and infuriated.

"Did you train for this by watching _Die Hard 2_?" Ali asked, still laughing.

"Shut up!" One of the terrorists screamed. "We'll kill her!"

"Sure." Ali said. "Listen, my flight crew still has control of the plane. You're not going to win this. At all." The Jordanian explained. "In fact, both of you will probably be dead in the next ten minutes." He said, smiling in such a way that his teeth resembled fangs.

"Shut up, camel jockey!" One of the terrorists screamed. Ali cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, haven't heard that since my Army days." Ali said, suddenly looking very displeased. "So I'm going to guess you all are especially enthusiastic Christians. That's good."

"This plane is going to be ours so we can carry out our mission." The taller of the two screamed.

"Uh-huh. That's nice." Ali rolled his eyes. "I'm going to be nice and give you one more chance to let the girl go and put the guns and the bomb down. Who knows, maybe I'll actually refrain myself from throwing you two off _my_ plane."

"How dare you try and stifle us!" One of them screamed. "We have a righteous mission!"

"Odd choice of words for murderers." Ali said. "What's the matter, you two don't have the balls to pipebomb a Planned Parenthood like normally whackjobs?"

"How dare you slander the Lord!" The shorter terrorist shouted, much to Ali's amusement.

"Hey, you're going to have a bullet in your brain sometime soon." The Captain snarled. "I'd lighten up while you have the chance." His threats not with standing, Ali still wasn't all that comfortable shooting with less than solid surfaces behind them. Counting his hand, he took a step forward, hoping to push the would-be martyrs into the galley. He grumbled when they stood their ground.

"Get back!" The taller one ordered, waving his small automatic weapon in such a way that Ali cringed slightly. He was reasonably sure the plane had descended low enough that catastrophic depressurization wasn't part of the end scenario. He yanked Louise in front of him.

However, his mistake was the fact that his arm went too low, pushing hard against her bosom.

"GET OFF!" She screeched loudly, pulling her left leg up to meet the hijackers vulnerable groin. The force of her kick seemed to send him flying upwards.

From Ali's point of view, this all seemed to be happening in slow motion. He felt his lungs cling to every ounce of oxygen in his chest. His eyelids felt like the heaviest parts of his body, a single blink felt like he was bench-pressing a truck. He felt himself shouting some sort of command, he couldn't hear it, but it was probably, hopefully, relating for Louise and everyone else to get down.

After another excruciatingly effort-filled blink, Ali found his hearing drowned out by the pounding of his heart, a pounding that was probably dangerously close to a cardiac episode. The flowing blood eventually made its way to his hands and fingers.

The taller hijacker was still reeling while the shorter one had committed the Cardinal sin of domestic terrorism by, quite literally, taking his eyes off the prize. He had shifted his focus onto the slight scuffle.

Knowing that a peaceful solution was by now out the window, his most basic instinct kicked in, who do you kill first? The tall one had the unarmed bomb but the short one had the machine gun.

His finger picked before his brain did. It was an odd scene. He noticed that the shorter hijacker suddenly didn't have much left of his head, seeing as the bulk of it was now spattered onto the face of a small refrigerator.

His eyes finally breaking from the red and grey mess, the Captain noticed the taller hijacker was making a rush for him. Ali pushed himself backwards, his right leg nearly straight and his left leg at an acute angle. He was thoroughly off balance.

Essentially removed from his own mind due to the adrenaline, Ali swung his arm and the pistol to his left. He felt the recoil of the gun as he fired off what felt like three shots.

Extending an arm to grab at a seat to keep himself from falling on his rear, Ali felt his senses stabilize. His body returned to its normal weight and his vision begin to normalize, he let out a long sigh. He finally opened his eyes.

Despite the rush of it all, Ali had felled one with a single shot to the temple and the other had moved on thanks to a small grouping of bullet holes in his chest.

Making sure both had become late; Ali flipped the pistol's safety on.

"Is everyone okay?" He asked. The passengers, all fairly shaken up, nodded collectively. "Good." The Captain said, advancing into the galley. Though he knew, he wanted to make sure the blonde stewardess was fine. He located her sitting on the ground next to one of the male stewards, Saji.

"You've got some leg." Ali said, taking a seat on the floor.

"Better aim." Louise said, flipping open her makeup mirror to fix her hair.

"You two make sure the passengers are okay." Ali said, rising slowly. "I'll make sure the two in the cockpit are still conscious." Looking up, the Captain again noticed the shorter hijackers left over brain matter. "As… gross as that is, we have to leave it up." Ali chuckled.

"I take it we can give the liquor out for free now?" Louise asked. Saji.

"Yes." Ali chortled. "Yes, we can."

With his blessing given on free liquor, the Captain tracked down one of the phones that called up to the cockpit.

The ringing caused First Officer Colasour to nearly jump out of his skin. He quickly tried to mask whatever it was that robbed him of his calm.

"Are, um, are you going to answer it?" Patrick asked. Lasse shrugged.

"You're the second in command." Aeon replied. Patrick groaned. He stomached his fear and grabbed the phone.

"... Y-yes?" The nervous Frenchman asked.

"Please tell the F-15 on our left that he doesn't to shoot us down." Ali said over the phone. Patrick virtually fainted with relief.

"Yes, sir." He said. "Are the guests um…"

"They've been taken care of and all the passengers are fine." Ali answered. "Our paperwork should be minimal."

"Good. Good." Patrick said, nodding to himself as he hung up the phone and flipped on the radio.

"TRA 376 to escort, TRA 376 to escort." Colasour called into his headset. "Flight in under control, repeat, flight is under control."

Listening intently, First Lieutenant Graham Aker stuck a hand to his helmet.

"TRA 376, the situation is neutralized?" The blonde asked, eager.

"Roger." Patrick answered. "Our Captain has assured control of the plane. So, please don't shoot." The redhead poorly joked.

"Roger, 376." Aker said, flipping his visor and undoing his oxygen mask. "I'll keep on your wing until you land." He said. "Should be plenty of cameras, and I want to make Captain."

"Roger." Patrick chuckled, flipping off the radio and removing his headset. "Do you think we'll get raises after all this?"

"Screw raises." Lasse said. "We could be on Oprah."


	5. Amongst The Lights

[My Setsuna might be kinda OOC. This is a comedic fic and, well, our little Setsu isn't very comedic (at least not intentionally). As always, read and review. Also, I swear I'll get the rest of the Meisters in eventually, it's hard to work in Tieria, he's like…Jesus with color shifting eyes and Mr. Rogers cardigans.]

As the last of the geriatric gamblers departed the planes, followed by the stewardesses, Captain Dylandy and First Officer Seiei milled about the cockpit, trying to fix their ties and button up their jackets.

"Where's my hat?" Setsuna asked.

"Right here." Neil said, spinning it through the air to his shorter comrade. The First Officer rolled his eyes as he adjusted his hair and donned his perfectly sized cap; retentively making sure the shiny black bill was perfectly level. He took the TransAm presentation standards, authored by Captain Alejandro Corner, very seriously. "There's something very wrong with you." The Irishman deadpanned.

Setsuna merely frowned. He enjoyed keeping his appearance as pristine as humanely possible. The only thing he enjoyed more was whenever Neil actually put some effort into looking good. "I could really use something to eat." The young First Officer said, yawning. "I'm pretty sure we'll get a discount if we keep in uniform, _Captain_." Setsuna joked, a somewhat rare peculiarity.

"Downside of that is people always call the cops when we drink." Neil groused, redoing his tie. Setsuna nodded. After a short sartorial bout, the two looked splendid, fresh out of a high-end magazine add. "Shall we?" Neil smiled, grabbing his briefcase and gesturing to the cockpit door. Setsuna nodded and, with ramrod posture, began the oddly labyrinthine march through the small tunnel to the massive airport. He blinked when he realized how many people there were.

"God, there's too many people." Setsuna fretted, not a fan of needless contact with strangers.

"Ah, relax." Neil said, padding Setsuna on the shoulder. "They're all here to gamble away their kids college funds. We're here for a four day weekend in a Five Star hotel."

"You didn't steal company money again, did you?" Setsuna warily inquired.

"Hey, that was Lyle." Neil laughed. "He got busted cold and he has European flight routes. We're stuck with domestics."

"Same salaries." Setsuna shrugged. "Same uniforms, same planes, same bosses."

"But we could live in Ireland, the land of my ancestors!" Neil said, voice grand. Setsuna cocked an eyebrow.

"We grew up in San Diego." Setsuna replied.

"Spoilsport." Neil deadpanned, grabbing his briefcase. "C'mon, our rental car is waiting for us." Setsuna nodded and followed after the taller Irishman. His tan-by-culture skin color drew the occasional glance from the Good Humor Bar tinted tourists, each the product of spray tanning. The First Officer grimaced slightly.

"It's a little weird to see geriatrics who have skin like horses." He quipped, showing a rare batch of unprompted humor. Neil barely managed to hold in his laughter.

"See, you shouldn't say that when they make up most of our fares." Neil deadpanned. Setsuna nodded, knowing his beau to be correct. Trailing after Neil, Setsuna felt himself frown, smile, then frown again when he saw their rental car.

"Ok…how much of my paycheck paid for this?" He said, pointing at the black Range Rover. "Tell me the answer is none."

"Ah, it was basically free." Neil laughed, grabbing their luggage. "People will do anything to get publicity from the world's most famous airline." He explained. "Besides, I'll easily make it back at the blackjack table."

"You are aware you're a horrible gambler, right?" Setsuna asked.

"I am not!" Neil countered. "I just have bad luck. Streaks of it."

"See, that's all fine, except it involves _you_ losing _our_ money." The younger of the two said. "And your family trust fund can't be never ending."

"Yes." Neil replied. "Yes, it can. And stop complaining, I bought your entire closet."

"Where would I be without the sparkly shirts you make me wear?" Setsuna deadpanned.

"Psh, you love them." Neil responded.

"Only to shut you up." Setsuna slightly groaned.

The two situated their luggage and were quickly rocketing through the streets. The younger of the two refrained from blinking, for he was convinced the world would end if he did.

"You tired?" Neil asked.

"I could use a nap." Setsuna nodded, wanting nothing more than to be out of the careening SUV.

"You did very well today, Setsu." Neil said, freeing a hand and lacing his fingers with his beloveds. "I'm proud of you and, of course, I love you."

"I know." Setsuna said, which was not the reply Neil was looking for.

"Pardon?" Captain Dylandy said.

"…I love you too, Captain." Setsuna said, his smile sheepish but visible.

"Why is that _still_ so hard for you to say?" Captain Dylandy asked, laughing in good nature.

"Because we're in uniform." Setsuna replied.

"We're always in uniform." Neil joked. "We're pilots, I think it's a job requirement."

"Yes, but you always talk about feelings." The First Officer attempted to grouse, but couldn't due to his faint but present grin. To his relief, they finally arrived at the hotel. Setsuna, already quite tired, barely registered checking in and going to their room.

Depositing his luggage on the floor, the younger of the two allowed himself to basically collapse on the bed. He sighed as he eased himself up, not wanting to wrinkle any part of his uniform. He carefully hung his jacket on a rack in the corner adjacent to the large window and balcony. He gently placed his hat on a desk and loosened his tie. Neil was busy clumsily casting his uniform off and scattering its parts up and down the room. The tan younger was about to lecture him on the wonderfulness of proper etiquette and cleanliness when he caught sight.

"Neil!" He blurted out. "What is _that_?"

"What's what?" The Captain asked, actually curious.

"_That_!" Setsuna nearly howled, his finger set in a very accusatory manner. Neil followed the imaginary line from Setsuna's index finger to his right rear shoulder blade.

"This?" Neil asked. "It's a tattoo. You know, ink, skin. A tattoo."

"It's… that's… that's _my name_!" Setsuna declared. Clearly the young man was somewhat averse to hypothetical copyright infringement. Captain Dylandy shrugged.

"Yes, it's _your_ name. And it's on _my_ body. Your fury is grounded in what?"

"You didn't ask me!" Setsuna said. "Or tell me!"

"Huh. Surprise!" Neil beamed. "Oh, watch this!" He declared, raising an arm and flexing his shoulder. The inked name went from somewhat looped to perfectly straight. Setsuna, the live one, blushed. This was, in his mind, very odd.

The young Seiei, of course, knew of Neil's undying love for him. But, it had never occurred he was going to have his name 'stamped' onto his body. It was certainly a very touching gesture, for his significant other/ Superior Officer. This was just foolish, Setsuna thought. For his somewhat pale skinned but wonderfully built older love, this seemed very foolish.

Setsuna's eyes glowered at the script of ink that resided upon the perfectly muscled body. Futilely, he fought to keep his eyes from strolling up. He failed as Neil turned full and he felt himself slip into the Irishman's impossibly deep eyes. From there, he took in a slow breath as he felt himself dive into his Captain's flowing, light brown hair. Before he could come to his senses, he was, quite literally, swooped into Neil's arms.

"That was the easiest approval I've ever won." The Irishman winked, entirely too cocky.

"It's acceptable. I guess." Setsuna said as Neil softly deposited him on the large bed.

"Good." Neil said. "And if you're going to blame someone, blame Sumeragi. She got me drunk and I woke up with it. God's honest truth." Setsuna merely arched an eyebrow.

"Uh-huh." He said, reasoning there was a 45% chance that story was true. Neil winked and clicked his tongue as he again returned to changing his clothes.

"I think it's quite tasteful." He said. Setsuna eyed him quizzically, but said nothing. He knew better than to argue fashion against Neil Dylandy.

Sitting up on the bed, Setsuna carefully removed his jet black tie and folded it carefully, not wanting undue creases. The young First Officer did not care for stress put upon his clothes, largely because he hated doing laundry.

"You still could have asked." Setsuna almost whined.

"Why?" Neil asked from the bathroom.

"Because it's polite." The First Officer said. "Being polite is good."

"And dull." The Irishman replied. His phone made a twinkling, wind chime meets a shooting star. He plucked it up and promptly laughed. "Wanna see a picture of Lyle's butt?"

"…Clothed?" Setsuna asked. Neil laughed.

"Nope." He answered, grinning. He made for the doorframe and tossed the phone to the bed. Setsuna, which was odd for him, burst into laughter.

"Why does your brother spend so much of his time bending over in front of mirrors?" Setsuna asked, trying not to examine the attractive ass in the photo too closely.

"Because Anew likes it. And so do we, to a lesser extent." Neil answered. Setsuna shrugged weakly, not bothering to fight it.

"I'm not going to the casinos this early." Setsuna said. "Too many old people."

"What is with your aversion to the elderly?" Neil asked.

"Just these elderly." Setsuna explained, eyes on the ceiling. "They're orange. People shouldn't be orange."

"Fair point." Neal said, smirking. "Who knows, maybe people will finally realize you're tan by default."

"It took you several months. And Lyle a year." Setsuna deadpanned.

"But Ms. Sumeragi got it in two days." The Captain laughed, exiting the bathroom in only a pair of seemingly skintight jeans.

"Why do you still dress like we're in college?" The First Officer asked.

"Because I still have the body for it." Neil shrugged, dropping onto the bed and flipping on the TV. "Oh, look. Captain Saachez has killed three more people."

"That we know of." Setsuna deadpanned.

"Relax, we can get the details out of Patrick or Lasse." Neil said. "Patrick is a gossip."

"Isn't he afraid of his wife?" Setsuna asked.

"We're all afraid of his wife." Neil said. "She's scary. And strong. Though, I hear they have a very healthy relationship."

"Huh." Setsuna said. "That's good."

"Well, we at least have interesting coworkers." Neil shrugged.

"Please, I don't think anyone would want to hijack one of our flights." First Officer Seiei smirked slightly. "Flights to Las Vegas and Reno. Thrilling."

"You sound disappointed we don't regularly encounter acts of air terrorism."

"It would make things amusing." Setsuna said.

"And I'm not amusing enough?" Neil inquired, cocking an eyebrow.

"I think I've adjusted." Setsuna almost joked.


End file.
